“Women included?”
“Ah…no. Lexie and I are going together.”
James looked as though he might argue, then he shook his head and laughed. “If anybody can make it happen, it’s you and Lexie.”
“I hope so.”
James handed him his helmet. “Have a good race, man.”
“Thanks.”
As James turned away, Harry stuck his head in the window. “Relax.”
“I am.”
“HumPh. Don’t look relaxed.”
“It’s all on the line tonight.”
“It’s all on the line every week. Nothing special about tonight. Just another race to finish.”
“And to place where?” Kane had asked this question several times of several different people and gotten blown off. No one wanted to freak him out and tell him he had to win to guarantee a spot in the top ten. And while he was pretty sure that wasn’t the case, he knew the finishing number had to be high. The number went down in instances where higher-placed drivers finished badly, but he had no control over their races, so he wanted to know what he had to do. The worst-case scenario.
“Fifth gives us a guarantee.”
“If I lead a lap?”
“Then sixth.”
“What if—”
“Coddle those brakes, and we’ll let you know what you need to do as the race winds down. It’s gonna happen. I can feel it.”
“Lexie thinks so, too?”
Harry nodded, his eyes narrowing. “You should know. You two are practically glued together.”
His crew chief’s respect was nearly as important to him as his own father’s. On some level he was betraying that respect by not keeping his distance as Harry had asked him to.
“I think I’ll shoot for the win,” he said finally with a casual tone as if he’d just decided to go to the grocery store.
“Good idea,” Harry said as he backed away.
To his surprise, his father leaned against the window. “Good luck, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He clapped him on his shoulder. “No matter what happens, your mother and I are proud of you.”
Kane swallowed hard, then managed a nod.
“Be careful,” his father said before his hand slid away.
The last visit was from Pete, who was responsible for checking to be sure Kane was comfortable in his seat and all his safety equipment was fastened securely, before he patted the car off on its four-hundred-mile journey.
“Go for it, man,” Pete said, slapping his gloved hand.
Kane gave him a thumbs-up.
“And, hey, we want you to make The Chase, but if you don’t, you’re still our guy.”
“Thanks, Pete. Have you seen Mr. Hollister?” Kane had expected their owner to be pacing behind the pit wall.
“He told Harry he was staying in the sky box. He didn’t want to put any more pressure on us.”
“More than he already has?”
Pete grinned. “Yeah.”
As he fastened the window net, Kane knew the time for reflection was over. Forward and counterclockwise was the only way to go.
“Gentlemen, start your engines!” roared through the track.
Kane exhaled and did just that.
CHAPTER TEN
“I’M LOSING THE HANDLING,” Kane said as the silver Number 82 car streaked by him.
“You’re doing fine,” Harry said over the radio.
“I need tires.”
“Next caution you’ll get them.”
Kane felt the car’s back end slide. “We may not have that long.”
“Hang in there.”
Kane knew he was whining. He also knew he had to finish fifth.
Bob Hollister might have been harsh to warn them so close to the race about their jobs, but he had too many millions invested in the team to finish in the middle of the pack every week—where Kane had been the last three seasons. Many owners wouldn’t have been nearly so patient.
Patience was not necessarily a good thing now, though.
Kane moved up the track slightly to keep the car behind him from passing. The fact that his car was able to do that gave him hope for the dwindling grip on his tires.
At three-quarters of a mile around, Richmond was considered a short track, but because of the high speeds, it had a superspeedway feel. It had hosted racing events for more than sixty years, before NASCAR was even founded. Fans and drivers alike loved the side-by-side, under-the-lights racing. Tires and brakes were everything, and when the rubber wore down, the cars tended to slide into the wall.
Just as Danny Lockwood had done on lap 152.
Given their stormy history and that Lockwood was twelfth in points, striving for that all-important number ten spot Kane wanted, he couldn’t say he was sorry Lockwood was now limping around in the back, thirty laps down.
Kane rounded Turn Two, and the back end of the car slid again. “Whoa.”
“Nice save,” Lexie said, the relief in her voice evident.
Since she’d been silent for much of the race, it was comforting to hear from her. He was much more tense than usual, despite everyone’s assurances.
“Trouble, Turn Three,” his spotter, Bill, said.
Breathing a sigh of relief—tires were imminent—Kane slowed for the caution with the rest of the field.
As they rolled around the track and by the accident, he noticed Derrick Anderson’s disabled car, looking too damaged to continue the race. His window net was down and the safety crew was already on scene, so Kane allowed himself a grin.
Derrick was ninth in points.
Somebody had to fall out in order for Kane to get in the top ten, and he was sorry it looked like it was Derrick. But he was also pumped.
“Pit next lap,” Harry said. His voice was even, as if he had no idea of the significance of who’d caused the caution. He did, of course, but knowing Harry, he didn’t want to jinx their fortune.
“What lap are we on?” Kane asked.
“320.”
Eighty more. Could they stay in the game for eighty more?
He rolled into the pits, and the over-the-wall gang went to work. Somebody used a hook to hand Kane a fresh bottle of Gatorade, and they were off in 13.8 seconds.
“Position?” Kane asked as he slid into line with the other drivers and cruised back onto the track.
“Sixth.”
They needed fifth. Or at least they had before Anderson wrecked. He didn’t ask for an update on the points, and when the green flag waved, he focused on passing.
His car was strong on the fresh tires, and he was able to move up, but was he going to stop when he got to the clutch position and just hold his ground? Was he going to be just good enough, or was he going to act like a champion?
He clenched the steering wheel.
He was fighting for his team and he wasn’t yielding an inch until he crossed the finish line, fighting to be the winner.
THIRD. THEY’D FINISHED THIRD at Richmond.
They were in The Chase.
Before the winner—the points leader, Patrick Williams—even finished burnouts on the front stretch, the media descended into the Sonomic Oil pits.
“Lexie, are you relieved to be so instrumental in finally getting the team into The Chase?”
“I’m not sure how instrumental I am, but—”
“The team never made it into the top ten before you arrived.”
This wasn’t going to become a thing, was it? Dear heaven, she hoped not. She had enough going on at the moment.
From watching her father deal with the press—and going through her own blitz at the beginning of the season—she knew it was best to say as little as possible. “Everyone at Hollister Racing is thrilled. We’ve pulled together like never before to make this happen for Kane and our entire team. We’ll shine in the final ten races.”
“Being the only female car chief in NASCAR NEXTEL Cup racing, do you feel a special validation for having made that elite group of ten?”
“I think women are making great strides in NASCAR, but anyone would be excited about their team being in The Chase. It’s been a team effort, so we’re all proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
“Are you personally proud of your driver?” one guy asked.
Despite the tabloid world of today, most sports reporters were reluctant to ask personal questions unless your personal life directly affected the sport you were involved in—i.e. you were a big basketball star and got married on the court before a playoff game.
But there were still moments where personal and professional lives merged. It was common knowledge she and Kane had once dated. Rumbles of speculation had followed their pairing in the garage, years after their breakup. What would be said if—or when—their private reunion was public knowledge?
Then again, it wasn’t much of a reunion yet. They were going to a party together. Which she’d decided to do less than twelve hours ago. Did she actually think the media was already interested?
Laughing at herself, she waved away her paranoia. “Yes, I’m proud of Kane, as well as our entire team.”
Thankfully, her father walked up at that moment, saving her from further speculation.
“Harry, how do you feel about making The Chase? Do you think your experience will help your driver over the next ten weeks?”
Always impatient with the media or anybody, her father narrowed his eyes at the reporters. “I think my driver can handle himself just fine. Did you see that save on lap 315? It wasn’t me steering that car.”